


Cacathesia

by wanderingbeauty



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson, It's Kind of a Funny Story - Ned Vizzini
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-01-06 21:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12219042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingbeauty/pseuds/wanderingbeauty
Summary: So I was searching the Funny Story tag on Tumblr and @mustangsflame thought it would be a good idea to torment me with the thought of, “Hey, what if Craig and Connor met in the psych hospital?” I got his permission to write it. Here’s the result.Also, I’m dedicating this to Ned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I was searching the Funny Story tag on Tumblr and @mustangsflame thought it would be a good idea to torment me with the thought of, “Hey, what if Craig and Connor met in the psych hospital?” I got his permission to write it. Here’s the result.
> 
> Also, I’m dedicating this to Ned.

I stumble into the house with Noelle behind me. “Hey, Mom,” I call, “hey, Dad. I’m home.”

“Hey, honey,” Mom responds from the kitchen; the house smells great. Like baked chicken and rice pilaf made from scratch. There’s probably some sort of vegetable involved too. I can’t smell it yet. “You got mail from Connor.”

My brow furrows as I approach the counter. The sweating starts when I see it. This isn’t the usual, nearly bursting envelope containing a novel that will take me a week to read. This one is tiny. It looks like there’s a birthday card in there. Maybe.

Upon closer inspection I realize it isn’t headed with Connor’s scrawled handwriting. In its place is a sticker -- Larry Murphy’s name is at the top, but the address is the same.

I rip it open and the glossy sheet slides into my hand. I read it again and again, flipping it over and trying to find the tiny print telling me this is a prank. 

I find nothing. This is the truth.

Noelle creeps up behind me and puts her hands on my shoulders. “What’s Connor up to?”

“Well, he’s dead. And his funeral is in two days.” I shakily shove the invitation into her hands.

“What?!?” That’s Mom. But I ignore her and push past Noelle, moving down the hall and into my room. I lock the door behind me.

///  
“Hi.” Noelle prompted me to approach him. He was a new face in Six North; it was lunch time and he was sitting by himself. We both went up to him. “Uh, is anyone sitting here?”

His eyes met mine. They looked dead. “Do you see anyone?”

Noelle and I exchanged glances before sitting down across from him. “I’m Craig Gilner.”

He made a face that was half annoyance and half amusement. “Well, hey, Craig Gilner. I’m Connor Murphy.”

“You look like a Connor,” Noelle piped up. And it was true. He gave off a very Connor vibe -- I couldn’t tell how tall he was but my guess was that we were very similarly built. Like bean poles. His hair was a chestnut brown color. A little longer than mine -- his bangs hung in his face -- and it had a nice wave to it. His eyes were small. I had a feeling that when he smiled the lines around them crinkled. They were a deep blue for the most part, but his lower right eye had a speck of brown in it. I’d never seen that before. “I’m Noelle.”

“No last name?” Connor took a bite of his hamburger. From the looks of it, that was the first time he touched his food.

“Hinton.”

He looked the two of us over, wiping the grease from his lip with the back of his hand. “Before you guys get too comfortable and start seeing me as a friend, you should know I’m pretty fucked up.”

“Take a look at where we are.” Noelle gestured vaguely to the room around us. “We’re all fucked up.”

The ghost of a smile threatened to make itself known on Connor’s face, but at the last moment decided to stay hidden. “Fair enough.” He took a fry from my plate. “Nice to meet you, Craig Gilner and Noelle Hinton.”

I noticed he didn’t take a second look at the cuts on her face. Or if he did, he was a lot more subtle than I had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send any requests to my Tumblr inbox!  
> wanderingbeauty


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig has a lot of feelings about Connor's death.
> 
> Connor Murphy and Noelle Hinton play the Question Game.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?" I scream at Zoe as soon as I get her on the phone.

"I take it you got the mail today?" A pause -- maybe she's waiting for me to yell some more -- then, "Yeah, he killed himself." My breath catches in my throat. "Mom and Dad found him face-down in the bathroom. I guess he took some pills from the medicine cabinet." She doesn't sound shaken up at all; I know she was never really that close to her brother, but I expected at least a quiver in her voice or something. 

"How are your parents?"

"Mom's somewhere in between denial and heartbreak. She keeps saying it can't be happening, but she hasn't stopped bawling her face off either. Dad's just..." She sighs. "He's not talking about it. He made the preparations for the funeral and stuff, but that's about it."

"How are you?" I venture.

"I'm fine." Pause. "I keep waiting to feel something. To break down crying or whatever. But nothing's happening yet." She huffs. I picture her running a hand through her hair. "Are you gonna come?"

"Why should I? He's an asshole. He couldn't even wait til a holiday or something -- making people take off school and work and stuff. Fuck him."

"It would mean a lot to my parents. You were his only friend, y'know."

"Noelle, too." But she has a point. Even though my mind is pretty much made up, I tell her I'll think about it. After a muffled, teary voice says something to her and I hear my name mumbled, she tells me she has to go. I tell her to take it easy and hang up.

My bed looks especially inviting. I crawl into it and pull the covers over my head, thinking about my dead friend. My dead asshole friend. 

///

"Hey, buddy!" Armelio waved at us as soon as we walked into arts and crafts. "Who's your friend?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Connor's nose crinkle. "Hey, Armelio." I parked myself beside him and Noelle slid into the seat next to me. "This is Connor." I turned my attention to him -- he was still standing, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You wanna sit with us?"

He mumbled an "okay" and tentatively sat across from me.

"Hey there!" Joanie pounced on him as other people were filing into the room. "Welcome to Six North, Connor. I'm Joanie. I'm the arts and crafts director here."

He eyed her hand suspiciously but shook it. "Nice to meet you."

"Help yourself." She gestured to the supplies on the table. "And if you have an artistic block, we'll be happy to give you some ideas."

But Connor was already gone. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and busied himself, sketching a rough outline of a human face. When Humble collapsed in the seat next to him it looked like he didn't even notice. "Who are you?"

Connor didn't look at him. "I'm Connor." 

"Hey," Noelle said, "wanna play a game?" And I felt myself smile. I knew exactly where this was going.

"What kind of game?" He tilted the paper, eyeing it curiously before continuing.

"I ask you a question and you ask me a question. We don't have to answer if we don't want to, but we have to end with another question. Sound good?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Okay. I'll start. What's your favorite color?"

"Green. Chocolate or vanilla?"

"It depends. Usually it's chocolate, but not with ice cream. Do you have any pets?"

"No, but a dog would be cool as shit."

"Connor." Joanie was like. "Language."

"Sorry."

"Point for me." Noelle poked him with her paintbrush. "You didn't ask a question."

He eyed the spot her paintbrush touched. "I can't do this."

"What do you mean? All you have to do is ask a question."

"I don't feel like talking." He returned his attention to his drawing and I snagged a few pieces of paper and a pencil for my brain maps.

The mumbles of the other patients and the soothing scratch of pencil against paper filled the room. Mostly the conversation was coherent, but occasionally Jimmy would chime in: "It'll come to ya!"

"Sorry," Connor said after a few minutes. "That was kinda dickish of me."

"Connor," Joanie said, sterner this time.

He ignored her. "You think I'm a jerk, right?"

"No, it's your first day here. I get why you're uncomfortable." Noelle was like. "Have you ever been to a place like this?"

"I've been to rehab, which is kinda similar, but this is my first time in an honest-to-God psych hospital."

"That's two for me." I glanced at her; she didn't touch him this time. 

"Oh," he was like. "Right. What kind of scents do you like?"

"Vanilla and rose are my favorites. Why were you in rehab?"

He scoffed. "Pass. How long have you been here?"

"Almost a month. I get out on Thursday." 

They provided good background noise. I wasn't really listening, but I picked up on some stuff. He had a sister who was a year younger than him, his dad was a Big Shot Lawyer while his mom stayed at home, and he was from Red Bank; his mom brought him here after hearing rave reviews about the hospital.

"Who's that?" she asked. I looked up right before he crumpled his paper. He had drawn a very pretty girl.

"No one," he muttered, shoving the paper into his hoodie pocket.

"That your girlfriend?" Humble was like.

"No. I'm gay."

Before anyone could say anything else, Nurse Monica approached the table. "Connor?" He looked up at her, a little startled. "Dr. Mahmoud is ready to see you. I'll walk you back to your room."

He stood, putting his hands on the table. "Thanks for the game, Noelle Hinton. Can we play again tomorrow?"

She smiled. "Sure."

He poked her with his pencil. "That's a point for me." He looked at me, then down at my brain map. "See ya, Craig Gilner."

"See ya, Connor Murphy."

He let Nurse Monica lead him out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send any requests to my Tumblr inbox!  
> wanderingbeauty


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor figures out what's wrong with him; Craig gets a painful blast from the past.
> 
> TW: vomiting.

I hear a knock at my door and groan. "What?"

"Can you come out here so we can talk about this?" Noelle's weepy voice asks.

Oh. Right. I guess I should be out there comforting my girlfriend. I come out and take her hand. We walk to the living room.

Dinner is on the table but no one is eating it. Mom is on the couch with Dad's arms around her. Her eyes are shining. She leans forward a little when she sees us. "Did he...?"

I swallow. "Whatever you're thinking, it's probably true."

She breaks then. I watch the tears leak from her eyes as Noelle whimpers into my chest. For a minute I feel bad for not crying, then I remember. "I'm not going to the funeral. Connor Murphy is a selfish prick."

"Craig," Mom rises from the couch and engulfs me and Noelle in a hug. "honey, I know you're mad at him right now, but if you don't get closure you're really gonna regret it." She sniffs and kisses my head, pulls away to stroke my cheek. "Are you hungry?"

Like I could even consider eating right now. Just the thought of it is making the man in my stomach tug on the rope threateningly. "I'll eat later." She doesn't protest as I grab Noelle's hand and we head back to my bedroom.

Neither of us say anything. We just get into bed. She sniffles; I feel her breath against my neck.

I'm glad Sarah is staying at a friend's tonight.

///

"Apparently I've been suffering from undiagnosed bipolar II," Connor informed us over breakfast the next morning. There was an omelet on his plate. I bit my tongue.

"Well, it's nice that you know what the problem is, right?"

"Swell." He rolled his eyes at me. "Regular depression would just be too easy. I gotta deal with manic episodes, too. And just when I get my meds straightened out, they're gonna get fucked up again. I can't wait." He took a violent bite of egg. "This shit tastes like ground up flies."

"Gimme it and you can have my bagels," I offered.

He slid his plate across the table without a second thought and swiped my bagels. "It's your turn to ask a question, Noelle Hinton," he said between bites.

She smiled and rested her chin in her hand. "Are you really gay?"

"I'm as queer as a three dollar bill." He looked at me. "Does that bother you?"

"Nope." I chomped at the omelet. "You weren't at dinner last night. Is everything okay?"

"I felt like taking a nap."

"Hey, buddy!" Armelio slid in beside Connor and threw an arm around him. "How's it goin'?"

"Ah," Connor squirmed away from him. "Can you not touch me, please?"

"Sure thing!" He put his hands up in a truce. "Sorry, buddy!"

"Connor," Smitty materialized out of nowhere and put a hand on his back. "phone for you."

"Damn. Tearin' me away from this five-star feast." He stood and let himself be ushered away.

We didn't see him for the rest of the day. I was worried we wouldn't get to say goodbye to him before we left.

///

I wake up -- shocked that I fell asleep -- because I need to piss. I navigate the hall in the dark and fall onto the toilet, hiding my face in my hands. It's been awhile since I peed sitting down. 

I hear footsteps outside the door, then palms smacking against it. "Craig?" Noelle is like. "Please tell me you're in there."

"Yeah," I whisper. "Sorry." I flush and wash my hands, open the door. "Are you hungry?"

She sighs in a "I thought you'd never ask" kind of way. "I'm starving."

I kiss her head. "C'mon."

The clock on the stove says 2:45am. I put our plates in the microwave for two minutes while she sits at the table. "I could make you tea if you want."

She shakes her head. 

I bring our plates to the table and sit across from her, starting in on the rice pilaf. My stomach is in a questionable state, but I'm pretty sure I can get this down. 

"It's so weird," she says quietly. She gets a piece of chicken on her fork and pops it into her mouth. "Are you really not coming to the funeral?"

I shrug. "I guess I should. If I don't he's probably gonna haunt me; I had enough of him when he was alive." I take a few more bites, feeling stupidly confident.

"Don't be a dick." But she's smiling.

"It just sucks. Like... I know you and I can take care of ourselves, but we were a team. I feel like he abandoned us."

"That's kind of selfish."

"Yeah, well, so is suicide." My stomach lurches and I groan. Oh no.

She notices. "You okay?"

I go to say something but my mouth fills up with saliva. My chair nearly falls over as I clamber down the hall to the bathroom. I shut the door hard but it doesn't slam -- it's light -- and get the lid up just in time to hit the target. Stress spews noisily out of me. Once. Twice. Then I'm just drooling into the toilet. "Fuck you," I whisper to the man in my stomach. 

Noelle starts to open the door. "Hey--"

"No!" I close it hard again, barely moving from the toilet. "Go back to bed. I'll be there in a minute."

"Do you want me to do anything?"

"Just--" That's all I can get out before I puke again. "Fuck you," I whisper to Connor Murphy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig leaves Six North. Connor makes a friend -- for real.

When I wake up the next morning, the sun is just starting to creep into my room and Noelle is curled against my body. I kiss her neck a few times, then I head to the kitchen.

I don't even like coffee and I know I won't actually drink it, but I need to do something with my hands. Rinse out the pot, fill it, pour the water into the chamber, put a filter in, scoop some grounds into it. Pause.

I sniff the grounds; the smell reminds me of when I was a kid. Every morning while I was getting ready for school, Mom would hand me the canister and let me inhale deeply. I didn't actually need the coffee -- the scent alone was a nice pick-me-up.

I turn the pot on. It burps to life as I put the canister back in the cupboard. The clock on the stove says 7:02am. The dishes, Noelle's and mine from last night, aren't on the table. She must've stuck them in the dishwasher before she retreated to the bedroom.

We're out of Hostess cupcakes -- Sarah must've taken the last pack for lunch on Friday -- so I snag my other saving grace, a cup of coffee yogurt. It's funny -- I hate coffee, but I'm a pretty big enthusiast of coffee-flavored things. I slurp down two cups (the man in my stomach never objected to this), rinse them out, and throw them into the recycling bin under the sink. I wash the yogurt down with water. 

The pot beeps and just for laughs I grab a mug and fill it with the brown bean liquid, not bothering with milk or sugar. 

Our apartment has a balcony across from the kitchen; you need to go through the living room to get to it. I saunter over and pull open the blinds, letting the ever-growing sunlight in, then I open the huge glass door and step outside. The air is surprisingly warm for a late October morning. I close the door behind me and park in one of our patio chairs, eyes to the sky. 

I hear the door open behind me after a few minutes. "Hey," Noelle's voice is like.

"Hey."

"The coffee woke me up."

"Help yourself." I hand her the mug.

She drinks, makes a face. "How are you feeling?"

"My stomach's fine. I got some yogurt down." I look at her. "I'm sorry I yelled at you last night."

"Don't be."

I kick the ground. "How'd you sleep?"

She sits in my lap -- careful not to spill the coffee -- and my arms go around her. "I didn't, really." I can tell. There are huge bags under her eyes. "How'd YOU sleep?"

I shrug. "I didn't, really."

We decide to go in after she finishes the coffee. I lie down on the couch while she puts the mug in the dishwasher. When she sits next to me, I take her hands and pull her to my chest. 

///

I was up bright and early the next morning; my parents were already waiting for me by the double doors where I came in. They were smiling. I remembered what Mom said when I called her the day I got here -- that she was proud of me. That I was brave.

And here I was, ready to walk on the other side of it.

What I wasn't prepared for was Connor. He was awake and standing by Mom and Dad. He looked like he was ready to spit on somebody; I guessed he wasn't a morning person.

I spread my arms in a "care to explain yourself?" gesture. "What's up?"

"I remembered you said you got out today." He hung his head like he was embarrassed. "I just wanted to... y'know... wish you luck... in... life and shit." He rubbed the back of his neck. From the corner of my eye, I saw Noelle creep out of her room and tiptoe up to him. She tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around and smiled. "Oh, hey! I was wondering if I missed you."

She shook her head. "I'm not leaving til this afternoon."

"Craig?"

I turned my head. "Hey, Mom." I hugged her tight with one arm. "This is Connor," I pointed to him. "and this is Noelle." I pointed to her.

We made small talk for awhile -- Dad asked where they went to school and they told him, Mom asked Connor if he was here due to stress from school. "Something like that," he said. 

"Well," I hugged both my friends in turn. "guess I gotta go."

"You have my number, right?" Noelle asked. 

"Yeah. Oh!" I took the piece of paper out of my pocket and unfolded it, smoothing it out on the counter at the nurse's station. "Connor, can I get your number?"

He looked shocked for a fraction of a second before he caught himself and responded with an indifferent shrug. He thought I didn't see. "Sure." He scribbled it down and slid the paper back to me.

"Wait!" I turned to see Muqtada just before he engulfed me in a hug. "Thank you for Egypt music, my friend." 

I hugged him back. "No problem, Muqtada. Have you met Connor? He's new here."

"I am to take good care of you." Muqtada clapped him on the back enthusiastically.

He smiled somewhat uncomfortably. "Thanks, man."

"Alright, guys," I turned back to my parents. "I think I'm ready to go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is there a way to italicize text on Ao3?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah finds out.
> 
> Connor gives Craig a progress report.

Noelle and I jerk awake because the front door opens. When I open my eyes, Sarah is standing over us questioningly. "Hi."

"Hey, little girl." Noelle gets off of me and I sit up, opening my arms to her. "C'mere."

She hugs me. "Is everything okay? You look weird."

"Well, no, actually." I pull her into my lap and Noelle strokes her hair. "Um, we got a letter yesterday. Connor..." I sigh. I shouldn't have to be telling her this. "Connor died. His funeral is tomorrow."

"What?" She moves slightly away from me to look at my face. "How?"

I break eye contact. "We're not sure."

"You're lying. It was suicide, wasn't it?"

I sigh again, but don't confirm anything.

She squeezes me tight, then awkwardly leans across my body to hug Noelle. "I'm sorry." She's not crying.

"Are you okay? Do you need to talk about anything?"

"I'm fine. He was cool and really nice, but I didn't know him that well." She leans into me. Noelle rubs her back. "It just sucks."

Yeah. It does suck.

///

It was a week before I got around to calling Argenon Hospital to see how Connor was doing. In the meantime, I'd been catching up on school and seeing what I needed to do to transfer to Manhattan Arts Academy. Ordinarily all the missed work would've driven me up a wall, but knowing I wasn't gonna be there next year gave me a little leverage. 

"Joe's Pub."

"Hey, Armelio. It's Craig."

"Craig! How's it goin', buddy? How's life on the outside?"

"Pretty good! I'm looking into transferring schools."

"Yeah? Good luck."

"Thanks. Hey, is Connor Murphy still there?"

"Yeah, he's here. He's in the activity room right now. I'll have Smitty get him for you." I heard the sound of what was probably the phone being pressed against his chest, then his muffled voice telling Smitty what was up. A second later he was back. "Connor's a tough one. I ask him if he wants to play Spades and he just shoots me down every time. 'Course I'd crush him, but that's beside the point."

"He's a pretty good guy," I said. "Be patient with him."

"Oh! Here he is. Take it easy, buddy."

The phone moved around some more, then I got Connor. "Hello?" He sounded pissed. 

"Hey, man. It's Craig Gilner. Everything okay?"

"Dude!" His tone completely changed; he sounded happy. "Sorry. I thought you were my dad."

"He's not the best, huh?"

"Oh, he's a complete fucking asshole." Then, softer, "Sorry." Smitty probably yelled at him for swearing. "So what's up, man?"

I shrugged. "Just checkin' in. How are you? You sound a lot better."

Turns out he WAS doing a lot better. Dr. Mahmoud had prescribed him some drugs that were working like a charm, he was opening up more -- not only in his private sessions, but in the sharing circles as well -- and it looked like he was getting out of Six North in two weeks, if that. "Oh," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I also requested to room with Muqtada a few days ago."

"Yeah? How is he?"

I pictured him twisting the phone cord around his finger. "He never comes out of his room, but we talk now and again." So he's about the same, I thought. "I think he misses his family."

Mom poked her head in my room then. "Dinner's ready, honey." She cocked her head. "Who are you talking to?"

"Connor."

"Hi, Connor!" 

He laughed on the other end of the line. "Hi, Mrs. Gilner."

"He says hi. Hey," I turned my attention back to him. "I gotta go." 

"No problem. Say hey to Noelle for me."

I told him to take it easy and hung up.

///

Mom comes out of her bedroom a little after 11:30. The three of us -- me, Sarah, and Noelle -- are sitting at the table. Sarah is eating a Kid's Cuisine. None of us are saying anything.

I watch Mom smile bittersweetly at the sight before her. "Hey, guys. How is everything?" There's leftover makeup from yesterday around her eyes. 

"I'm going to the funeral," I say.

She rubs my back in what I think is supposed to be a mixture of encouragement and sympathy, then turns to Sarah. "Are you okay, sweetie? Do you have any questions?"

Sarah looks right at me and asks, "Why did he do it?"

"I wish I knew." 

"That's not an answer." She looks irritated now. "You got better. Why couldn't he?"

Mom puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets out of Argenon and The Gang's friendship begins to deepen; Noelle wants to help Craig out with his schoolwork.

"My mom wants me home," Noelle is like. It's three in the afternoon now. "Thanks for letting me stay here last night, Mrs. Gilner."

Mom hugs her when she gets up. "I'm so sorry this happened, sweetie."

Dad even puts a loving arm around her. "Take it easy, Noelle."

"Thanks, Mr. Gilner."

"Do you want me to walk you out?" I'm like.

The weather has only gotten warmer since this morning. Yeah, this planet might be dying, but the sun is out. The air is humid, but not suffocating. There are a few white, puffy clouds in the sky. Why would someone kill themselves when the weather is this beautiful? Why not wait until February when the rest of the world is dead too?

Noelle kicks the wheel of her car, not looking at me. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Guess so." I give her a quick kiss. "Text me if you need anything, okay?"

She hugs me tightly and I hug her back. Then she's in the car without a word, pulling out of the parking lot.

///

I called Argenon a week later.

"Argenon Hospital, Six North; this is Smitty speaking. How can I help you?"

"Hey, Smitty. It's Craig."

"Craig! What's up? How is everything?"

I gave him the rap about feeling great and transferring schools. I made sure to tell him that Noelle was doing good, too.

"That's great, man. I'm glad you guys are friends. So what's up?"

"Can I talk to Connor?"

"No can-do." I started thinking the worst -- had Connor taken five steps backward? Had he completely lost his mind? Had he upgraded to an _actual_ psych ward?? -- until Smitty clarified: "He was released yesterday."

"He was? Awesome! That's great! Thanks, Smitty." I hung up and immediately shot Connor a text: "So you're a free man."

He responded in almost no time: "For now."

Me: I bet your family is happy to see you.

Connor: Mom is. She's glad that I'm actually doing better. And Dad is working on giving a shit, which is hilarious. I wish you were here to see it.

Me: What about your sister?

Connor: A work in progress.  
Another: Hey, is it okay if I put you, me, and Noelle in a group chat? We could be like the Three Musketeers or some shit lmao

Me: Or the Beastie Boys.

Connor: What?

Me: License to Ill?

Connor: Y'know, you're a real fuckin nerd.

All I sent him in response was a smiley face.

For the next month Noelle and I were constantly hanging out and we talked to Connor via the group chat. We were all super honest with each other -- sharing time in a mental hospital really demolishes communication barriers, I think -- and when one of us was having a bad day the other two would do their best to hype them up. Sometimes, though, we needed a break.

It went like this -- if I sent a text to the group chat and Noelle was in no mood to be social, Connor and I would tell her not to sweat it and we'd be here when she was ready to talk again. Then he and I would talk amongst ourselves until she resurfaced. We really had a good thing going.

And speaking of Noelle, things were only going up for us. 

I was talking to her on the phone one night: "So I need to put together a portfolio for art school. I have a brain map--"

"The one of us?"

I smiled. "Yeah. And I have a drawing of a cup on a table, a fireplace, and a fruit bowl. But I really wanna branch out. I think I wanna try to draw a person."

"Do you wanna draw me?"

I stopped. "Do you _want_ me to draw you?"

"Yeah. That would be cool. You could come over this weeekend; my mom is dying to meet you anyway."

"It's a date."

"It's a date."

And with that, we hung up.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig draws Noelle. Something else happens, too.

I got to Noelle's at two in the afternoon on Saturday. It was May now, meaning I only had one full month left at Executive Pre-Professional. 

She was on the porch waiting for me. "Hey."

I bounded up the steps with my sketchbook in hand. I felt very official. "Hey."

"Mom's at the store but she shouldn't be too long. Wanna go set up?" She grabbed my free hand and let me in.

The first room I saw wasn't technically a room -- it was more like a walk-in coat closet. To the left of that was a closed door -- I'm assuming it was the bathroom -- to the right was the kitchen. She dragged me past the entryway to the dining room, through the living room, and up the steps. 

"I was thinking we could do it in the bedroom. That okay?" She asked. 

"Yeah, whatever you wanna do is fine."

We got to the top of the steps and she made a right turn. I followed. We got to the end of a long hallway and she opened the door.

So this was her room.

It wasn't what I expected, but at the same time it had her name written all over it. Pale pink walls, a comfy looking fouton with a white frame (it was currently a couch) with a few stuffed animals and a pillow in the shape of human lips on it.

The fouton sat against a sloped wall; there was a tiny window next to it, as well as on the wall across from it. Her dresser was in the corner, rejected. It was white too.

Apparently I had some sort of weird look on my face because she got mock defensive: "I haven't redecorated since I was thirteen."

The fact that she was into pretty pastel stuff instead of skulls and death when she was thirteen made me smile. "I like it."

She shrugged. "So, we gonna do this or what?"

"Yeah. Ah..." I sat across from her, flipping to a clean page in my sketchbook. "Whenever you're ready."

"Okay, but if you make fun of my body, it's over."

"What do you m--" Oh my God.

I looked up and she was in the middle of taking her shirt off. Then her pants. Then her bra. Was I dreaming? Nope. Because when she slid out of her underwear I felt a sensation that was way too strong to be the product of a dream; I set my sketch pad in my lap.

"Is there a certain pose you want me to be in?" She messed with her hair and sent it tumbling over her chest. It was level with her nipples. 

"Ah... n-no." I tried not to look anywhere but her face for too long. "Just, ah, just... just do whatever."

She folded her arms over her chest and crossed one leg over the other. "You're blushing. Is this okay?"

"Perfect." I got to work, trying my best to ignore the tightening in the crotch of my pants. 

"You're still blushing."

"I'm doing your face first," I told her, "so we can talk the rest of the way through if you want."

She didn't respond, just sat perfectly still. 

Over time, the thrill of it dulled. That's not to say I wasn't still totally aroused by the sight of my naked girlfriend in front of me; it just became more relaxed as I focused on the lines, the shading, and the shapes. I looked up at her face I'd abandoned about twenty minutes earlier to start on her body. "You're falling asleep."

She shook her head. "Just resting my eyes."

Rub rub rub. I accidentally made her left leg too fat and erased it. "Your mom's taking awhile."

"Is that a bad thing?"

I shrugged, focusing on the curve of her hip. "Not necessarily."

Almost an hour later I was faced with my finished product. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it wasn't bad for a first attempt at a person. I was happy with it. It was definitely going in my portfolio.

Noelle took the sketchpad from me and examined it. "What the hell did you do to me?"

Or not. "You don't like it?"

"You made me beautiful."

"You _are_ beautiful." 

She snorted and hit me with the pad. "Shut up."

I laughed and hit her with a pillow. She did the same, bonking me in the head with the lip-shaped one. But then something weird happened -- all the silliness was gone and her face was three inches from mine. Then she kissed me. 

I'd made out with Noelle before -- many times -- and she never had any objection to me getting to second base. The thing is, it was always done over the bra. I wondered if she changed the rules now that there was no barrier; my hand cautiously reached out.

She made a soft cooing noise as soon as I made contact. That was a good sign. I went to do the same with my other hand, but before I knew it she was taking my shirt off and pushing me back onto the bed. She kissed my neck, then my chest. I let out a heavy sigh without meaning to. Then her lips were below my belly button and she was undoing my pants.

My girlfriend is the coolest. 

Her mouth was at the hem of my underwear, teasing me. This was gonna be great--

Or not -- we heard a door opening downstairs.

"Shit!" She leapt off me, laughing. "That's my mom."

I spent the next few minutes thinking of images that would kill my boner -- all of which were for naught when I watched Noelle put her pants back on without slipping into her underwear first. 

My girlfriend is the coolest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to let you guys know that I'll be taking a break for awhile -- I have a bunch of ideas for the story but I have no clue how to make them flow; I want to create a cohesive, linear story rather than a bunch of one-shots that happen to include the same characters. I don't really have the time right now to figure any of it out, but once I do I'll be back to regularly posting again. Hope you all can understand!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig and Noelle are having a bad night; a typical dinner at the Murphy's takes place.
> 
> TW: graphic depictions of self harm, mention of sexual abuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for being patient while I took my break! It took me a long time to write this chapter -- I wanted to get it right and make it feel real. I've also decided that I can't write a friendship that takes place over four years and have it run smoothly and coherently, so from here on out each chapter is gonna be like a little short story of its own. The basic structure of the plot is gonna be the same, but the chapters are gonna be a little lengthy and a little more detailed now, instead of short, non-specific chapters that serve as filler for a longer story.
> 
> Enjoy!

"Why have we never been to your house?" I asked Connor one day as he, Noelle, and I were hanging out in my room.

It was nearing the middle of sophomore year; since Connor had gotten out of Argenon the three of us had been practically inseparable. He'd gone to my house first, a few days before freshman year ended. He'd texted me asking for my address and I gave it to him despite my suspicions that he was going to send me something illegal. When I got home, though, there he was on the floor, coloring with Sarah. Turns out he'd taken the train.

The summer was spent back and forth between my place and Noelle's, with Connor returning home every few weeks. My parents were always happy to see him. Mom had even started making a lot of his favorite meals, like sushi and meatball subs.

"Because my parents fucking suck," he said simply. "And my sister is a bitch."

"Can we meet them anyway?" Noelle was like. "I'm sure they're not that bad."

"They are."

"Please?"

He sighed in disgust and heaved himself off of the floor. "Alright. You guys wanna go to my house? Fine. Let's go to my house." He walked out of the room.

"Mom," I called when Noelle and I stopped to put our shoes on, "we're going to Connor's."

"Okay, honey. Have fun. Text me when you get there, please!" 

Connor was leaning against my car when we got outside. "You're driving."

"Look, man, we don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Just unlock the car, Craig."

I did as I was told and we all got in. Connor was beside me in the passenger seat; Noelle took the middle seat in the back.

///

I get a text from Noelle at around eleven: "Please don't be mad at me."

I go to text her, "what did you do?" but think better of it and just ask her what happened. The three dots pop up, letting me know she's typing something. I watch as they disappear, pop up, disappear, until finally she sends me a picture of her arm, cut up and bloody.

I waste no time in getting Zoe back on the phone. "Can Noelle and I come over?" 

"I think that'd be good, actually -- Mom will be glad to see you."

I hang up and tell Noelle to get a bag packed after reassuring her that I'm not angry. Then I saunter out into the living room with my own bag slung over my shoulder. "Hey," I say to Mom and Dad on the couch, who are looking at the TV but probably not watching it, "I'm going to get Noelle and we're going to the Murphy's."

"It's late, Craig," Mom says. "I don't know if I want you driving--"

"I'll be fine. She's just... she's having a really bad night." It's a forty-five minute drive to her house and another hour to Jersey. I'm not looking forward to it, but it'll be better if all of us are together. I hug Mom. "I'll call you when we get there, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

"I love you, honey."

"I love you, too." I hear Dad's "be careful" as I shut the door behind me.

A half hour later, I'm outside of Noelle's house. I may have sped a little. She's waiting for me on the porch; I barely get to park before she's in the car beside me. "Are you sure you're not mad?"

"Of course not." I rub her back. "Do you think we should go to the hospital?"

She shakes her head. "They're not that deep."

"Did you clean them?"

"Yeah. With alcohol. Hurt like a bitch."

"Can I see?"

A look of annoyance flashes across her face, but she peels back the tape and the gauze to reveal four horizontal cuts near the middle of her arm. They don't look as bad as they did in the picture. 

I don't say anything. She rewraps them as I back out of the driveway. Next stop, Jersey. 

///

Connor gave us the rundown on the way -- his parents were constantly on the verge of divorce, then getting back together, then divorcing, then getting back together. There was a hostile tone in his voice you'd be stupid not to pick up on, and he called his parents by their first names, like, "Sometimes I wish Cynthia would just come to her senses and leave Larry's sorry ass -- she deserves better." Apparently Larry was apathetic except for when he was angry; on the other hand, Cynthia got way too emotional in a house full of people who just needed a slap in the face (Connor's words, not mine).

He lit a cigarette when he started talking about his sister. All he had to say was, "She's harmless, but she can be a pain in the ass sometimes." I cracked his window and watched him play with his lighter as he told us a story about how, during one of his nasty manic episodes, he'd thrown a Pledge bottle at her head. It missed its mark by two inches. His tone was detached the whole time and he wouldn't look at me. 

He smoothed his hair out of his face -- it was down to the middle of his ears now. "That was the worst I've been with her. Or anyone." He shrugged. "It was a long time ago but she's basically steered clear of me ever since." He threw his head back and exhaled dramatically; I was never going to get the stench of cigarettes out of my car. "Not that I blame her." Then I guess he decided that that was enough talking for the trip; he turned the radio on and cranked it up so that none of us could speak. It stayed that way until we reached his house. 

"Oh, _great_ ," he mused when we pulled into the driveway. "They're home. Awesome."

///

I see Zoe through the picture window in the Murphy's living room. The light is on; I'm assuming Cynthia and Larry are still up. I wonder if they've slept since they found him.

Once we're out of the car, I take Noelle's non-bandaged hand and we walk up the front steps in silence. 

Zoe opens the door before we get to knock. I hug her. "Don't," she mumbles, but she's not pulling away and I don't let go of her.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Don't."

I break away and then it's Noelle's turn. While they're hugging I venture into the living room. "Ah, hi."

"Craig." Cynthia, with her puffy eyes and tired face, rises from the couch to hug me. "What are you doing here?" She moves to wrap her arms around Noelle. 

"We were both having a bad night. Couldn't sleep. So... here we are." I expect to see Larry in his recliner in the corner of the room, but he's nowhere to be found. "I hope that's alright."

"Of course, honey." She puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. "Larry and I have to be at the funeral home early in the morning..." Her voice breaks and I watch as her face contorts and she puts a hand over her mouth. I go in to hug her again; she sniffs loudly in my ear. "But you guys don't have to come with us if," another sniff, "if you don't want to."

I rest my chin on the top of her head and think back to the times she didn't cry.

///

"PARENTALS," Connor bellowed as soon as he swung open the front door. "I'm home."

"Connor," his mom reprimanded while we were taking our shoes off, "we talked about this. Please don't yell--" Pause. I looked up and she was staring at me. "Hello."

I leaned forward and stretched my hand out to her. "Hi. I'm Craig." 

"I'm Noelle." She took a turn shaking as well. "We're Connor's friends."

She smiled warmly at us. "Well, it's nice to meet both of you! If Connor had let me know you were coming, I would've made Rice Krispie Treats!" She glared at her son in a way that wasn't serious at all. When he wouldn't meet her eyes, she tried a different approach. "You like those, right, sweetie?"

He shrugged, eyes on his feet. "I guess."

"Should I whip some up?" She turned to me and Noelle. "It won't take long. And they'll be fresh!"

I offered what I could only hope was a genuine smile. "Yeah, that sounds good! Thanks, Mrs. Murphy."

"Oh, Cynthia's fine." She moved past us and made her way down the hall, running a hand through Connor's hair on her way out.

"I like your mom," I tried when she was out of earshot. "She seems nice." Cynthia had shoulder-length red hair and hazel eyes with lines around them. Her face kind of reminded me of my mom's. Not in shape or how it was proportioned -- Mom's face was rounder, smoother, whereas Cynthia's was sharp and angular; she passed that trait on to her son -- but in that their faces were both worn out and tired. I guess that's a side effect of having a messed up kid. 

"Only 'cause Larry's not here," Connor was like. "I bet he's _golfing_ with his _buddies_." I swear I heard him snarl before he finally looked at us again. "Do you wanna go to the basement or something?"

The Murphy's basement was the size of our Brooklyn apartment. It was carpeted and fully furnished -- in the middle of the room was a beige sofa facing a TV that took up almost the entire wall; behind the sofa was a bookshelf that held books, movies, and board games. There was a desk with a computer in the corner, and a back room that housed a washer and dryer. One of them was running. 

"Wow," I was like. "You guys live pretty comfortably, huh?"

"Mmph," Connor mmphed, slumping onto the couch and turning on the TV.

Noelle went over to the bookshelf. "You guys wanna play Chutes and Ladders?"

Connor snorted. "Fine." 

We heard feet pad down the stairs as Connor spun a six, earning him a slide down the biggest chute. It put him behind Noelle but ahead of me. "Fuck."

"I'm telling Mom."

"Eat shit, Zoe." He glared at her, then looked at Noelle and me. "Oh, this is my sister."

Noelle smiled at her. "I like your hair."

Zoe beamed in response. "Thanks!" It was long, cut in layers with bangs across her forehead; caramel-colored with indigo streaks. 

Cynthia came down then, holding a tray of Rice Krispies and four glasses of milk. "Connor, I hope you're not excluding your sister just because you have friends over--"

"I'm not excluding her," he snapped. "She just got down here."

"Yeah, Mom. I'm just switching my laundry." Zoe ducked past her and made her way to the laundry room. 

"Do you want some Rice Krispies?"

"With almond milk?"

"Yes." There was a _you know this_ tone in Cynthia's voice.

"Pass." She re-emerged a second later, arms folded over her chest. "You know I hate almond milk. It tastes like snot."

"Zoe, please don't be difficult in front of the company."

I tentatively took a sip. It was actually pretty good. Not better than real milk, but it wasn't terrible. I shrugged. "I like it." 

"Thank you, Craig." Cynthia smiled at me. 

Zoe huffed and stomped up the stairs. 

I saw hurt register on Cynthia's face before she turned back to us with a smile. "Are your friends staying for dinner, Connor? I'm making chili." 

"I dunno," Connor was like, taking his turn again without looking at any of us. "Do you guys wanna stay?"

Ordinarily I would've faked heart palpitations to prevent going to a family dinner that wasn't my own, but I could tell that Cynthia was ecstatic about Connor having friends over. I saw Noelle thinking the same thing. "Why not? We don't have anything else going on."

Cynthia's smile got bigger. "Great! I'll start cooking when Larry gets home -- he's out golfing with his buddies." She started up the stairs. "Enjoy your snacks, guys!"

Connor coughed, but it could've been a laugh.

***

Surprisingly, Larry Murphy looked exactly like I thought he would. The three of us came up from the basement to find him in Cynthia's arms. They were grinning at each other. "You smell like a golf course," she giggled.

Connor cleared his throat obnoxiously. "Minors in the room. No fucking, please."

"Connor, go to your room." He turned toward us angrily, but softened when he saw me and Noelle. "Excuse me. I didn't know we had company." His face was hard, his jaw set, and he had the same tired lines around his eyes as Cynthia; he reminded me of a chewed up and spat out version of my father. His hair was thinning -- it was mostly grey, but I could see the dark brown youthfulness trying to poke through.

I introduced myself. So did Noelle. 

Larry arched an eyebrow. "You a girlfriend?"

She put an arm around me. " _A_ girlfriend; not Connor's."

"Nice to meet you." He turned toward his son. "When are you gonna bring a girl home, Connor?"

"I dunno, Dad. You'd think girls would be all over me -- what with me _sparkling personality_."

"Well," Larry nearly cut him off, turning back to Cynthia. "I'm gonna wash up before dinner." He planted a kiss on her cheek and excused himself from the room. 

"My folks don't know," Connor explained in a low voice. "Let's keep it that way, please."

***

"I got an e-mail from Mr. DeWitt today," Zoe was like once we were all eating. "It's official -- I'm in jazz band!"

There were congratulatory words from the Murphy parents. "Honey, that's great!" "We're so proud of you!" "Good for you!"

"When do rehearsals start?" That was Cynthia. 

"This Wednesday. They're right after school; I'll probably need to get picked up around six."

It wasn't long before the conversation turned to Connor: "How come you don't belong to any clubs, son?" That was Larry.

He shrugged, moving his chili around with his fork. "Clubs aren't my cup of tea."

"Nothing's your cup of tea anymore, Connor. You need to get out there and start applying yourself--"

"Honey," Cynthia said gently, "can we not have this conversation in front of our guests?"

He cleared his throat. "You're right. Excuse me."

The setup of the dining room was interesting; the walls followed a burnt orange, olive green, and pale yellow color scheme. On paper it sounds pretty ugly, but the colors actually went really well together. I wondered if they hired an interior designer for it. The floors were a nice, light-colored hardwood. 

Across from where I was sitting -- my back was to the kitchen -- was an olive green hutch built into an orange wall. It was full of fancy plates and wine glasses. Behind the head of the table where Larry was sitting wasn't a wall, but two glass doors leading to a patio and an in-ground pool.

"So," Larry continued, "How did you all meet? You go to school together?"

Before me or Noelle could respond, Connor was doing it for us. "We're in Spanish together." I tried my best to not look confused. "Mom," he held up a forkful of chili and eyed it suspiciously. "Is that... avocado? You put avocado in the chili?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "I figured I'd try something new! Do you like it?"

He took a bite and chewed carefully, shrugged. "It's okay."

"I never see you hang out with them at school," Zoe was like. 

He swallowed. "Well, I do."

"Come to think of it, I've never seen Craig or Noelle in school before." Her tone was flat, almost accusatory.

"I don't know what to tell you, Zoe -- they're there."

"They're only a grade above me. I'd see them in the hallway if--"

He threw his fork down onto the table, making all of us jump. "Okay, we met in New York while I was at fucking Argenon! Happy?"

"That's okay," Cynthia said softly. She went to touch her son's hand but he flinched away from her. "There's nothing wrong with that. Right, Larry?"

He hesitated. "Of course not."

Connor violently pushed his chair back. "I'm not hungry." I watched him and his socked feet quietly start to stomp away. 

Cynthia sighed. "Honey--"

"I'm _not hungry!_ " He left the room; we listened as he leapt up the stairs, slammed a door. 

She hung her head. "You couldn't have been supportive? You couldn't have told him that it was okay?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"There was resentment in your voice, Larry. We're not idiots."

"I say, let him go," Zoe uptalked. "Let him act like a fucking baby if he wants to."

Larry pointed his fork at her. "You watch your mouth, young lady."

She rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything else. 

After the rest of dinner was spent in silence, Noelle and I offered to help clean up. Cynthia wouldn't allow it. "That's very thoughtful of you, but Larry and I will take care of it. Why don't you go see how Connor is doing? He's usually calmed down by now."

Connor's room was at the top of the stairs, first door on the right. Or, I guess, _lack_ of door -- someone took it clean off its hinges. It was a little hard to see what he was doing at first -- he had blankets draped over the windows and it took my eyes a minute to adjust. "Hey, man. We were just-- _ugh!_ What the hell?"

"What do you want?" He was annoyed. Like we were distracting him from his homework instead of watching his blood drip all over the carpet. 

"Gimme the blade, dude."

"Fuck off." Then, "get outta here, Noelle. You don't need to see this."

"Connor," I was struggling to keep my cool. "Gimme the blade. C'mon. This isn't the way to do things."

"Oh, yeah." He rolled his eyes. " _Prime_ advice from the kid who doesn't know shit about real problems."

I went to tackle him, only vaguely aware of Noelle crying out behind me. Connor and I fell to the ground; another inch to the left and he would've cracked his head on the dresser. 

"Life is _so hard_ for you," he wheezed, trying to wriggle out from under me. I pinned his wrists above his head; his blood got all over my hand. "Couldn't hack it at school so you wanted to throw yourself off a bridge. But then you transfer--" he gasped in a breath. "And you're fuckin' _cured!_ "

"What about you? You have a shit ton of money and parents who only want what's best for you--"

"DON'T COME INTO MY HOUSE AND TELL ME WHAT MY PARENTS WANT, GILNER."

"MR. AND MRS. MURPHY!!" Oh, good. Noelle's voice finally came back to her. 

I dug my nails into the pressure points on his wrists and he let out a howl, finally dropping the razor. I tossed it behind me, hoping Noelle would catch it. Now that the weapon was gone, I got off Connor. As soon as we were both on our feet, he swung at me; I ducked and succeeded where he had failed, clocking him in the mouth. He spat in my face right before Cynthia and Larry thundered into the room. 

The next few events happened in a blur -- there was a lot of screaming; Connor's bookshelf came crashing down, books pitched across the room; 911 was called; I roughly ushered Noelle out of the house and into the car. We didn't even get to say goodbye to Zoe. 

It was a full fifteen minutes before I could say anything. "You okay?"

"I think so." But her hands were shaking. 

"I can't believe how stupid he is."

" _Stupid?_ " I looked over and she was staring at me incredulously -- eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

"He's a complete fucking idiot."

"And what does that say about me?"

"C'mon, you know it's different for you."

"Why? Because I was molested by my uncle? Because the only man in my family I could trust died before I could tell him the truth? Because my reason is _valid?_ "

I ran a red light. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

"No, I wanna talk about it, Craig. I wanna know why he's an idiot and I'm not."

"We'll talk about it when we get home."

"It's because I'm fairly attractive, isn't it? Did Humble tell you that crazy girls were good in bed? Did Bobby say something about how girls who are sexually fucked with are easy and loose?"

"Please--"

"How long after you fucked me were you gonna stick around? Am I a hit it and quit it type of girl? Or were you gonna wait a week?"

"Just--" I felt my palms slam against the steering wheel. " _shut up, Noelle!_ This isn't about you!"

Pause. 

I cracked my window and took a few deep breaths, trying to focus on the view; it was a beautiful day. None of this crap should've gone down. I pulled over on the shoulder of the road -- ten more feet and we'd be climbing the trees. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said... anything. It's just... overreact much?"

"You have no right to tell him if he's overreacting or not." She wouldn't look at me. 

"You're right." And she was. When she didn't respond, I got back on the road, hand palm-up on the glove box. It took her a minute, but she put the blade in my hand. 

"Thanks," she was like.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor writes to Craig. He's trying his best.
> 
> TW: self-harm, suicide, drug use.

_Craig Gilner,_  
_I'm sitting in arts and crafts in a hospital not too far from my place. I know, you're probably shocked. I didn't feel like painting or drawing or anything -- I'm not very artistically competent like you and your brain maps -- so I got the okay from Rita to go ahead and write my feelings. Barf._  
_Anyway, there are a few things I need to tell you. First, I've been taking my meds with beer for awhile. I didn't think it would have such a negative affect on me. Besides, old habits die hard and I've been drinking since eighth grade. Not compulsively -- I swear to God I'm not an alcoholic. I just needed something to help me relax. Kind of like the weed. But we'll get to that. Second, as if I couldn't get myself any more fucked up, I stopped taking my mood stabilizers about two weeks before we got in our fight. I thought I could handle it. I was feeling great. I hadn't had a manic episode or a violent outburst in awhile, so once I ran out of refills I started only taking my antidepressant. You see how well that worked out._  
_Okay, next: I was only cutting myself because my parents took my weed. I know, that sounds like a lameass excuse. I guess it kind of is. But the weed really centers me. Especially when I'm hit with a sudden panic attack or bout of rage and I know the meds won't work quick enough. And if I don't have that, what's a good alternative? Slicing my wrists open with a box cutter, I guess._  
_Cutting centers me in a way the weed doesn't -- I have total control over it. I can choose when to start, when to stop, how deep to make the cuts, how big, etc. I'm sure Noelle told you the same thing if you ever talked about it. That said, I was NOT planning to kill myself that day. But if I did happen to strike bone in the process, I wouldn't have been too broken up about it. I told the nurses that when I got here and they automatically extended my stay to ten days. See what happens when you're honest?_  
_The good news is (or at least I think it's good), I told them about the weed too. They were generally disapproving, but they told me that an aromatherapy specialist would be coming here on Thursday and that they'd set up an appointment for me. It seemed to them that I'd respond well to naturopathic remedies in addition to my meds. Can't wait._  
_Time's up. I'll probably write to you next week, too._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Connor Murphy_

 _Craig Gilner,_  
_Well, a week has gone by. I have so much to say!_  
_They put me back on my mood stabilizers. As much as I hate to say it, they're really helping. They upped my dosage for the time being, which I didn't think was necessary, but what the fuck do I know?_  
_Anyway, last Thursday the aromatherapist came in. The bad thing is, it was group therapy -- I was hoping for a one-on-one session. But we worked with lotions and oils and sprays and this and that and the other thing. I realized that I really fucking love essential oils, as gay as that sounds. I'm not allowed to have a diffuser in my room for health or safety reasons or some shit, but she's coming back this week with infused handsoaps for the bathroom. I'm rooming with Muqtada again, by the way. I don't know if he's been out since freshman year. But he says hi._  
_This chick from my school came by to give me all my missed work before my folks could get around to it. Her name's Alana and she's in my English class. I guess we're doing this partner assignment on Huck Finn and got stuck together, probably because she's a know-it-all pain in the ass and no one in their right mind would elect to partner with the school psycho. So we're gonna be together for two weeks. Yay._  
_I think Zoe tipped her off that I was staying here. Pretty sure they're in jazz band together. Bitch._  
_But I shouldn't complain too much. Alana does all the talking, which is nice. I'm content just to listen._  
_That's all I got for now. Guess it's time to fingerpaint like a goddamn child. See ya._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Connor Murphy_

 _Craig Gilner,_  
_I've been rotting in this fucking prison for three weeks. Why? Because I haven't been socializing or opening up in therapy, and when I do feel inclined to go out and join the fun, I fuck it all up by making tasteless jokes about my mortality (and the mortality of others). I can't fucking win._  
_But since I'm probably gonna stay here for the rest of the forseeable future, I figured I'd tell you a little bit about just how fucked up I am. Let's see... where to begin? Well, I earned my "school nutcase" rep in second grade when I threw a printer at my teacher. We were in typing class in the computer lab. When it was time to go, Mrs. G. had us form two lines at the door -- boys in one line, girls in the other. Standard shit, right? Well, I hadn't been picked to be the line leader that day and it was irritating the hell out of me. I thought about it so much that I couldn't focus on my keyboard for the entire class. So this asshole Jared mans the boy's line, and I guess I just snapped. Picked up the printer and threw it right at her head. Good thing she had fast reflexes. Anyway, Cynthia was called and she took me out of school for the rest of the day. Unbelievably, I only got two days suspension._  
_The parentals didn't take me to see anyone. I guess they were trying to convince themselves that it was part of the "kids will be kids" thing. But I wonder what it would be like if they had done something. If they'd taken me to a shrink and I'd miraculously been diagnosed early. Do shrinks even think about second graders being manic depressive?_  
_Guess we'll never know._  
_The kids in my class kept talking to me. Some of them still played with me at recess. We were young and stupid -- no one knew I'd grow up to be a goddamn rage-filled social deviant._  
_Some of them picked up on it early, though. Fifth grade was when I started getting stuffed into lockers or dunked into toilet bowls. The kids who were on my side would tell the teachers, but nothing would be done -- they'd get reprimanded, even suspended, but then they'd be back a few days later to do it again._  
_By seventh grade I was friendless. I guess I was too serious. Too depressed. Everyone wanted to have fun and hang out at each other's houses; I was just concerned about whether or not I wanted to live to see tomorrow._  
_I started staying home a lot. I'd tell Cynthia I was sick and just lay in bed all day. But that was all over once she took me to the doctor and they obviously couldn't find anything wrong with me._  
_Time's up._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Connor Murphy_

 _Craig Gilner,_  
_I'm not gonna beat around the bush -- I used to be addicted to pain killers. Specifically Vicaden. It didn't start as an addiction. At least I didn't see it that way. I came home from school one day and I wasn't in the mood for my regularly scheduled fits of rage that were usually directed at Zoe. Luckily Cynthia was at the store, so I rooted around in her medicine cabinet and found some leftover pills from when she had hip surgery a few years ago. I popped one._  
_I moved the pills to mine and Zoe's bathroom. And from then on I'd just take one whenever I felt the need to punch something. But I guess that's how habits form._  
_I started taking them every day after school regardless of how I was feeling. The bottle was a full 90-day supply -- guess Cynthia got a refill that she never needed. Anyway, I blew through a month and a half's worth. Then one day I came home, went up to the bathroom, and they were gone._  
_Larry cornered me after dinner and shook the bottle in my face. "Did you miss these today, Connor?"_  
_Hell yeah I missed them, you son of a bitch. So I went to tackle him, kind of like how you tackled me in my room. But he was two steps ahead of me -- he punched me in the stomach and threw me in my room. I spent the next few hours throwing shit around and screaming like a four-year-old._  
_By the way, here's a little disclaimer: Larry is NOT an abusive parent. He doesn't come around and kick me in the ribs for the hell of it or punch me in the nose because his football team lost. What he did was done only in self-defense._  
_Anyway, the parentals sent me to rehab after the pill fiasco. I don't really have anything to say about it -- I didn't get the shakes, I wasn't vomiting, nothing grotesque was going on -- I just snapped at people and bitched about how I didn't wanna be there._  
_After my stay they gave my folks a brochure about this yoga retreat in upstate New York -- not too far from where you live, actually. Their thinking was that I'd benefit from breathwork and movement._  
_This is where I learned to hate yoga._  
_Time's up._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Connor Murphy_

 _Surprise, asshole! I'm out!_  
_I got out on Tuesday. It is now Friday. Being that I'm no longer on as rigorous of a drug cocktail, I figured I'd finish things before I sent this shit out. So here we go._  
_When I got back from the dumbass yoga retreat, there was a lock on the outside of my bedroom door. Larry installed it while I was downward dogging and treeing and chairing and whatever the fuck else. Nice surprise to come home to, don't you think?_  
_He had a copy of the key made for Cynthia. And basically what would happen was this -- if I was acting violently or destructively or in an otherwise unruly fashion, they'd throw me in my room and lock the door behind me._  
_Do I think I deserved it? I guess. I mean, up until this point mental illness hadn't even been a possibility -- I was just a bad kid._  
_I was allowed to stay home from school that week. I guess they didn't want to overwhelm me with all that shit right away. This is where Cynthia and Larry's fights really escalated. Like I said before, they'd been fighting for years -- Zoe and I actually started placing bets on when one of them would leave and why -- but I guess treating her kid like a convict didn't sit well with Cynthia. I'd hear her on the phone with Larry during his lunchbreak. Her voice would do that awful thing where it would be shaking really bad because she was trying hard not to cry. She wanted better for me. You were right. But we'll get to that._  
_So anyway, I was back in school. I didn't have any friends, I lost my drugs, and Zoe stopped talking to me (this was a little after I threw the Pledge bottle at her). At the risk of sounding like your stereotypical emo kid, I was totally alone._  
_This is where the weed and alcohol came in. I found a dealer and started smoking regularly -- usually before school -- and sometimes when I came home I'd steal one of Larry's beers and head up to my room. When it got to be around nine o'clock, I'd take the can out from under the bed and drink about half of it -- just enough to make me tired. I had a habit of staying up all night, kicking the walls, breaking things, the usual. The beer was a precautionary measure that just so happened to work. So I'd drink, I'd cozy up in bed with a good book, and I'd shut my eyes for a second and it would be 6am -- time to get up for school._  
_This was a good system for awhile, but eventually something snapped. Why wouldn't it?_  
_We ate dinner in silence one night. Zoe was glaring at me; Larry and Cynthia were glaring at each other. The whole fucking world was out to get me, Craig. I knew it in that moment._  
_This was freshman year, by the way._  
_Anyway, there was only one thing to do -- stay home from school the next day and kill myself. I'd be out of everyone's hair. Cynthia and Larry's worlds could revolve around Zoe instead of me. It was what they wanted. And it was what I wanted, too. I was ready to die._  
_I played Cynthia like a fiddle. When I didn't get up right away and she came into my room, I looked at her with glazed-over eyes and what was apparently a very convincing sick face. "Mom," I did this thing with my throat to make it sound hoarse, "I don't feel good. My tummy hurts." Add in a well-rehearsed groan and she was done for. She kissed my forehead, tucked me in, made me some soup and some hot chocolate. It was great._  
_When I knew she wasn't gonna bother me anymore, I hopped out of bed and grabbed a belt. Fixed it to the light on my ceiling and, well, you know where this is going._  
_I guess it couldn't hold my weight. I hung there until I passed out, then crashed to the floor._  
_She was crying when I woke up. We made a few phone calls, asked around, and then I was shipped to Argenon. Enter: you guys._  
_While I was there they ransacked my room. Took my pot, my beer, my door. And, as you know, this is how the cutting intensified._  
_So how the fuck am I now allowed to wander the streets? Well, it's just a simple matter of perspective._  
_There was this dude in the hospital with me. I forget his name, but his thing was that there was some kind of supercomputer in his head telling him what to do. I think he called it a script? And he was able to get it out of his head by drinking Mountain Dew Code Red. So he's "healed," but still kinda messed up by it._  
_What the fuck, right?_  
_I feel bad for the kid, but my point is this -- I'm not a schitzophrenic. I'm not delusional. Sure, I get a little paranoid, but I'm working on it. On a whole though, I'm really not that bad off. It could be worse._  
_It's not easy. Sometimes it's a goddamn nightmare. That's why I snapped at you that day -- I guess I was jealous. I wish I could transfer schools and have that be the end of it. I wish art could take my mind off things. I wish I had one concrete thing to blame all my problems on. But I don't. I'm just a fucked up, spoiled rich kid. It blows. But it's manageable. It's definitely survivable._  
_The folks have been doing room checks every two weeks since Argenon, but I'm not giving them reason to anymore. No more weed. No more booze. No more cutting. And I'm gonna take my meds regularly._  
_When I got home from the hospital this time around, I hugged Cynthia and told her I loved her. And I shook Larry's hand and thanked him for looking out for me. I'm trying to patch things up with Zoe, but I can't expect everything to move perfectly._  
_And then there was you and Noelle..._  
_So, Craig, if you've read up to this point, thank you. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I miss you. I know this is super gay, but can we be friends again? I'm phoneless right now thanks to Larry, so if you have anything to say you can text Zoe -- she gave me the okay to give you her number._  
_Please think about it._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Connor Murphy_

Zoe's number was waiting for me at the bottom of the page. I shot her a text: "Hey, it's Craig. Could you tell Connor he's a really good writer?"

I never kept a journal. I didn't see the point. What did I have to write about? "June 22, hung out with Aaron. August 3, lusted over Nia. April 3, seriously thought about killing myself." For the most part, everything in my life was the same from day to day; the events just went in different orders sometimes. 

I wondered if Connor's preteen angst was recorded in a notebook somewhere. Maybe that's why he was able to approach everything in such a nonchalant way in his letters. Or maybe it was just the medley of drugs they had him on, numbing everything. 

I got a text from his phone ten minutes later: "I know."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang all head to one of Zoe's jazz band concerts!!

Connor was lying on his back with his head hanging off the bed; Noelle and I were on the floor on either side of him. It was our first time hanging out together since his Big Episode, and we were waiting on Cynthia who, fifteen minutes ago, told us she'd be ready in ten minutes. 

The plan was to go to Zoe's jazz band concert, then out to dinner at some hole-in-the-wall vegan restaurant afterward. Apparently that was some New Thing Cynthia decided to try shortly after Connor got out of the hospital. He didn't even seem disgusted when he told us about it. 

"Kids," Cynthia called from downstairs, "is everyone ready to go?"

"Waitin' on you, Mamacita," Connor called back. He leapt off the bed and we headed out, shutting his bedroom door behind us (that was given back to him when he got home, too).

He stopped at the foot of the stairs to root around in the closet for his coat. "You won't need that, dude," I said. "It's like, 40 degrees out."

"Precisely why I _will_ need it." He shrugged into his grey peacoat and slipped a black beanie with a pom-pom on it over his head. "It's fucking freezing outside. I'm sick of winter." 

Zoe and Larry were at the school already, so we opted to take Connor's car. Cynthia was even letting him drive. "FUCK," he yelled as we trudged down the walkway.

"Connor," Cynthia warned. 

"HECK," he amended, climbing into the driver's seat. "Why is it so cold?" We jumped in -- Noelle was in the passenger's seat (she and Connor have an unspoken rule about her being his Right-Hand Man), I was behind her, and Cynthia was behind Connor.

"Is Zoe nervous?" I asked Cynthia.

"Probably. This is only her second concert. I'm glad the whole family is going. Plus you two, of course," she added with a laugh.

"Is she good?"

"She's amazing." Connor answered for her. "I hear her through the walls sometimes. I had no idea she could play like that."

"Alright, you guys ready for some tunes?" Noelle was fiddling with Connor's phone and soon a familiar, rhythmic drum beat filled the car. It was The Lion Sleeps Tonight by The Nylons. 

We sang along in three part harmony and Connor went up to hit the high notes on the choruses. It made Cynthia laugh so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. 

It was good to see Connor happy again. He'd greeted us with a dopey grin when we arrived at his house and made fun of our matching outfits -- I was wearing a plum-colored shirt with black pants, shoes, and a blazer usually reserved for church; Noelle wore a purple dress, black tights and shoes, and a black shawl. She topped it off with a simple silver necklace I'd gotten her for Christmas. 

Connor was dressed up, too. He had on a navy blue turtleneck with tan pants and brown shoes. The bags under his eyes were gone and he seemed genuinely excited to go support his sister. 

"Boy, Connor," Cynthia giggled when the song was over, "you're quite the singer!"

He scoffed. "That's nothing -- you should hear me sing Mariah Carey!"

"NO," Noelle and I screamed in unison; that made Cynthia laugh even harder. 

Connor put his phone on shuffle then, so we got everything from Meat Loaf, to Toto, to Adele, to Matchbox Twenty, to Eminem. He sang at top volume to every one and Noelle and I came in when we felt like it. 

"Ooh, Mom! This one's for you!" He cranked the volume on a piano riff I didn't recognize. 

"Oh, gosh," Cynthia was like. "It's been awhile since I listened to this!" They spent the next four minutes singing along to what I can only describe as the Quintessential Seventies Break-Up Ballad; Cynthia was delightfully tone-deaf. 

***

We joined the sea of people entering the auditorium and headed to the front. The curtain was still drawn and people were chatting amongst themselves. In our seats were little programs telling us about jazz band and the students in it. Connor took a seat next to me, head dipped and picking at his fingernails. I elbowed him. "You good?"

"Yeah." He didn't look at me. "I'm just... big crowds of people aren't necessarily my favorite thing in the world. Especially _these_ assholes." He gestured vaguely to the room around us. 

The lights finally dimmed a few minutes later and the curtain pulled back -- I could instantly pick out Zoe. She was in the front row, off to the left with her guitar in her lap. And like everyone else onstage, she had on a white button-down, black pants, and black shoes. I started getting flashbacks to when my family and I would go to Ponderosa every Sunday after church.

The concert was surprisingly nice. It seemed like everyone actually cared about their craft, unlike Manhattan Arts Academy -- or even Executive Pre-Professional -- where you could tell the kids only did extracurriculars because they were forced to by their parents. Zoe even got a tiny ten-second solo. True to Connor's word, she was good. I looked over at him and he grinned at me. _What'd I tell ya?_

After the show we approached the stage and found her among the other families. There were congratulations and hugs all around. "Excuse me, Miss Murphy," Connor was like, waving his program at her, "could I have your autograph?"

"Don't be weird," she mumbled. And they hugged. It was stiff and awkward, but sweet. 

After a few minutes, Connor rammed into me. "I'm gonna go smoke. You guys coming?"

We headed out into the slightly less congested hallway after Cynthia gave us directions to the restaurant (cleverly called Chuck's) and Connor insisted that he knew where he was going. "Wasn't she great?" he was like. "I wouldn't be surprised if she got a big solo soon. Did you see that grin on her face?" He held the door open for us. "Hmm... do you think I'd still get busted for smoking on school property after hours?" Without waiting for an answer, he pulled his coat tighter around himself and headed for the parking lot. 

"You guys should start a band," Noelle suggested. 

"Nah," he laughed. "She hates me too much. Woah!" He bumped into someone as he was trying to get his cigarettes out of his pocket. 

"Oh." The kid was wearing a long-sleeved green shirt and white pants. He had fat cheeks and a thin, pursed mouth -- he kind of reminded me of a hamster -- and he was looking up at Connor with wide eyes. "I'm... I'm sor--"

"No," Connor uptalked. "It was my... I wasn't paying..." He sheepishly shook his cigarette carton at the kid. "Do you, um... want a...."

"Oh, no. No thanks. I... I don't... I don't smoke." 

"Oh... ah... okay. Sorry." 

They did an awkward dance, trying to get out of each other's way until Connor stepped to the side and gestured for him to go ahead. The kid nodded at him, threw a sideways glance at us, and shuffled away.

Connor smoked two cigarettes before we climbed into the car. "So..." Noelle mused playfully, rubbing her shoulder against his, "who was that guy?"

"I dunno, just some kid." He snorted. "He's in my English class." 

"Do you _loooove_ him?"

"Fuck off, Noelle. I barely know him." But he was laughing a little. 

"Why don't you talk to him?" I asked. 

"There's nothing to talk about." His ears were turning pink. "Can we just drop it?"

***

The door into Chuck's was made entirely of glass so we could see into it to some extent. It looked like what I expected a vegan restaurant to look like -- there were potted plants on every table and mini stained-glass chandeliers above them; to the left of the door was an uphill slope leading to a juice bar. The floors were hardwood and the walls were a pale lavender. 

Cynthia, Larry, and Zoe beat us there. We walked over and took a seat. 

I had no idea what to order. I'd only had tofu and soy milk in the past. They weren't exactly bad, but I definitely wanted to try something else. "What's good here?"

"Nothing," Larry said quickly. He laughed and planted a kiss on Cynthia's cheek. 

I decided on the kelp noodles with mixed veggies and peanut sauce. I had no idea what a kelp noodle was, but it sounded pretty interesting. 

While we were waiting for the food, I grabbed Connor's drink to inspect it. It was brown with flecks of something on top and a puree of some sort in it. I took a sip. Bad decision. My palm involuntarily slapped against the table and I hacked. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Connor took the drink back.

All I could choke out was, "It stings."

He chuckled. "That's the ginger, baby."

The drink was then passed around the table against his will. "Friendship drink," Zoe declared, taking a huge swig. 

"All right, _all right_." He took it back once we were all finished. "Fucking heathens." 

The kelp noodles actually turned out to be good. I pegged the place as a potential future hangout spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Cynthia and Connor were rocking out to was Mandy by Barry Manilow in case anyone was wondering lol


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noelle needs space. This causes Craig to feel inept and Connor tries to comfort him.

"So where are you takin' her?" 

I had Connor on speakerphone as I pulled one of my dressier shirts over my head. It was spring break and I wanted to take Noelle out to dinner before we saw Phantom of the Opera -- she told me she loved the movie but had never gotten to see it live before, and since we'd never been on a real, romantic date anyway I figured it'd be perfect. 

Connor made a noise of approval. "Phantom's pretty cool. We saw it a few years ago. I can't remember who our Phantom was, but he was cool as shit. I felt bad for him in the end." Pause. "Cynthia cried."

I looped my belt through my pants. "I don't know anything about it."

"You'll like it, I think."

My phone buzzed. Noelle's ears must've been ringing: "Craig, don't be mad." She sent it to the group chat.

I laughed and sent back, "What did you do?"

I expected her reply to be something like, "I spilled something on my dress and I'm gonna be late." But her actual response made my stomach drop.

"Shit," Connor whispered.

Noelle had just checked herself back into Argenon.

***

I burst through the doors of the hospital and immediately went to the elevator, jamming the button with my thumb. "Sir? Sir," the nurse was like, "you need to sign in."

"Oh." I fast-walked to the window and scribbled my name and everything else onto the pad. "Ah, the teen psychiatric floor -- which one is it?"

"Three North." She had a plump, patient face and short, frizzy red hair; she was probably in her fifties and there were dinosaurs on her scrubs. She smiled at me. 

I almost forgot to smile back. "Thank you."

The elevator took forever, and then I was racing toward a set of double doors that were identical to the ones in Six North. I tried to keep my composure as I approached the nurse's station. "I'm here to see Noelle Hinton?"

"Room three, down the hall to the left."

And I was running again. 

The door to her room was open. She was wearing a paper gown and brown booties and there was makeup on her face; her hair was half-up.

I knocked on the doorframe. "Hey."

She wordlessly walked over to me with her red eyes and mascara-streaked cheeks. 

I pulled her close. "What happened?"

"Today marks three years since my dad died."

"Noelle, I'm really sorry."

"I thought I'd be able to handle it. But so much has happened. I'm a sophomore now... I got my licence... I have a boyfriend..." She sniffed. "And I'll never get to tell him." Pause. "I'm so sorry, Craig." Her voice got really weepy then.

"You don't have to--"

"No." She pulled away to look at me. "I... I can't..." Her face twisted and some tears fell. "I can't be with you right now. I need space." She looked away from me. "I'm sorry."

"Hey." I wiped at her eyes. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I get it."

"It won't be forever." She sniffed again.

"You can take all the time you need." I went to kiss her forehead, but she hugged me. We stayed like that until a nurse came to take her away. 

"Will you tell Connor to keep his distance too?"

I squeezed her shoulder, nodded. She gave me one last shiny-eyed look before she walked away.

***

"So that's it?" Connor was like. He was at my house now. He wanted to stop at the hospital but re-routed once I gave him the news.

"Not forever," I clarified. "She just needs some time to get back on her feet."

"I'm guessing they were pretty close?"

I shrugged as he took a seat next to me on the couch. "You know about as much as I do. She doesn't really talk about him." Pause. "Did you text her?"

"I told her I loved her -- no response. They probably took her phone already."

Sarah came out of her room then. She'd only heard the beginning of my story before scampering off; now she was bearing gifts of Hostess cupcakes. She tossed one to me and one to Connor.

"Where'd you get these?" I asked.

"I know you can eat them when you're sad, so I used my allowance to buy a stash for you."

I pulled her into a hug. "You're the best."

"Just don't go into my room to look for them, okay? Ask me and I'll get them for you." She kissed my cheek before pulling away. "You guys wanna play Yahtzee?"

The rest of the evening went by painlessly enough -- my parents came home and I told them what happened without going into too much detail. I didn't tell them about Argenon, just that Noelle and I had broken up.

Mom gave me sad eyes. "Oh, honey, is everything okay?" She played with my hair. "Do you need to talk about anything?"

"I'm fine." I waved her off and Dad gave me a reassuring pat on the back. 

I was able to eat a few bites of dinner -- rotini with Mom's semi-homemade sauce -- before excusing myself to my room. Connor came in about ten minutes later. "Hey."

"Hey."

"I helped your mom clean up and she called me a good kid." He slumped into bed beside me. "That was nice." 

"How could I not know?" I was like. "She was my _girlfriend_. We were supposed to pick things up from each other. I should've _known_ something was wrong." I turned onto my back, looking at the ceiling. "And now that I know, I can't even do anything. There's nothing I can do to make her feel better. I can't fix it." 

"It's not your job to fix something like this," he was like. "You just need to be there for her and give her space if she needs it. Which is what you're doing." He pat my knee. "This is the best thing you can do for her right now."

***

I couldn't sleep. I found Connor in the living room, reading under our pole lamp. "Hi."

"Hey. You good?"

"Been better. What are you reading?"

He held the cover up for me -- _JM Barrie and the Lost Boys: The True Story Behind Peter Pan_.

"I've only seen the Disney movie," I said. "It wasn't bad."

"Yeah, if you like an adaptation that completely bastardizes the author's original intent--" He caught himself. "It's for a school paper."

"Hey, ah..." I scratched my head. "You wanna go for a ride?"

***

"You sure no one's gonna beat us within an inch of our lives for being in such close proximity with each other?" Connor was standing on my bike pegs; his arms were around my waist. 

"Nah, this is New York. Guys walk around holding hands all the time." Plus, it was 2am. Hardly anyone was out except for the semi-steady, drowsy flow of traffic. 

I skidded to a stop and put down my kickstand. "We're here." He let go of me and we walked to the railing of the bridge.

The streetlights cast a warm, orange glow over the water, making it look brown. Connor put his head in his hands. "This is cool."

"I come here a lot when I can't sleep. It helps me clear my head." 

"Isn't this where you almost..."

"Yeah." It's weird. You'd think a place that holds such a traumatic memory would be one I stayed away from, but every time I came down here I was reminded that even on the worst day of my life, I walked away from the fight relatively unscathed. And I could do it again.

Connor bent over and picked up a pebble, dropping it into the water. The splash came after a few seconds and he whistled impressively. "Shit. That's a long way down." He put an arm around me and squeezed tight. "I'm glad you're still here, man." 

I gave him a one-armed hug back. "Ditto."

***

I was roused from half-sleep by someone throwing their body weight against my door. "Craig, you up?" I heard the door open. "It's 12:30, man. I made you some oatmeal."

That got my eyes open. And my stomach rumbling. "Apple cinnamon?"

"Cinnamon spice. It was all you had."

My body ached as I brought it to a sitting position; I tossed and turned all night, and when I was finally able to go back to sleep, I must've slept at a weird angle. My back was killing me. "Thanks. Where's Sarah?"

"At a friend's house. Tina, I think? Your mom dropped her off before she went to work. I think she said they were planning on going to the movies." Connor was in his black hoodie and blue plaid pajama pants. His hair -- now down to his chin -- was unruly and sticking up in the back. 

I nodded. Tina's mom used to work with mine before she became an interior designer. Kind of a big leap from designing greeting cards, but it also made sense in a way. 

I took a bite of the oatmeal. It was super liquidy -- Connor made it with water instead of milk -- but it was good. Nothing like a whole lot of sugar and fiber to start the day.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. He had his own bowl that he'd all but licked clean before putting it on my desk. 

"Rough night." I took a few more bites. 

I was up because my brain was doing the Cycling again. I'd start thinking about Noelle and how I couldn't help her, then I'd try to talk myself down by thinking about what Connor said, then I'd tell myself that it didn't matter what Connor said because my girlfriend practically had PTSD because someone she was supposed to trust violated her in the worst way possible and her dad didn't even know about it...

I shook my head to clear it and ate some more. 

Connor's hand was on my shoulder. "Dude. Noelle's strong as hell. She'll be fine." 

"Fine's not good enough," I spat. "It's--" My stomach gurgled and I leapt out of bed, almost taking him out in the process. I didn't even have time to shut the bathroom door before I was heaving into the toilet. 

"Hey," Connor said softly from the doorway as I took a few gasping breaths. "Are you--" 

"Go away."

"Oh, fuck off." He knelt beside me and rubbed my back.

"I'm not kidding. Leave." My body jerked forward as I threw up again.

He made a noise of disgust. I heard him swallow. "I'm not going anywhere." His hand didn't leave my back.

"I think I'm done anyway." I spat into the toilet, waited a few seconds, and stood. 

I meandered back into my room, grabbing my laptop before falling back into bed and hiding under my blanket. 

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Connor asked. "Ginger ale always helps me when my stomach's fucked up."

"We don't have any."

"I could run out and get some, stupid."

Never in the midst of any of my episodes did I consider drinking ginger ale, but the thought of the carbonation burning the back of my throat made my mouth water. "Okay."

"Okay. I'll be back--"

"Hey, could you... ah... could you just... lay with me for a second first?"

"Christ, you're needy." But when I moved over to make room for him, he got under the blanket without hesitation. 

I pulled up That 70s Show on Netflix. It wasn't one of my favorites, but it was the perfect show to veg out to, which is why I've seen the entire series three times. 

"You don't need me to like, hold you or anything, right?"

I snorted. "No. Thanks."

At some point we ended up falling asleep. I woke up to the sound of the front door opening. "Boys," Mom called, "I'm home."

I elbowed Connor in the ribs and watched the life come back to his face. "Hey," he yawned.

"Hey."

He stretched, slowly looked around the room. "Shit. I never got you your ginger ale."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor has a mini meltdown at the doctor's. 
> 
> TW: blood, needles.

"Bloodwork." That was Connor's response when I asked him why he texted me fifteen times and needed me to come over so badly. It was mid-May and I was sitting at the table trying to study for a chem final -- a subject I'd never had any luck with in the first place.

I got another text a few minutes later: "Please stop ignoring me. I need you." And another: "I know you haven't left for school yet."

I fought the urge to curse and looked up at my family. "I'm gonna head out early -- Aaron's a whiz at chemistry. He's gonna give me his notes to look over."

The train got me to Jersey in thirty minutes; Connor, Cynthia, and Zoe were waiting for me. I climbed into the car. "Hey, guys."

"You're not missing school for this, are you honey?" That was Cynthia. 

"Ah, no." I felt Connor glaring at me. "It's an in-service day. For teachers." 

I don't think she bought it, but she didn't ask any other questions. We pulled out of the station and were on our way.

"Major pitfall of the vegan diet," Connor pretend-whispered to me. "Getting stuck every six months to make sure you're not dying of a protein deficiency."

"Don't be so dramatic, Connor," Cynthia uptalked. "We're just getting our B12 and D levels tested. Our protein intake is fine." Her hair was in a low ponytail and it didn't look like she had any makeup on. She wore a tan cardigan over brown pants. She seemed well-rested.

"Doesn't change the fact that I still have to get stabbed with a fuckin' needle." He kicked Zoe's seat and I saw her roll her eyes in the rearview. 

***

The waiting room had pale yellow walls and a white border with chicks and ducks on it. It was a typical layout -- chairs lined the walls and in the back corner there was a table with that game where you drag chains of shapes over different colored tracks. While Cynthia signed her kids in, we migrated toward it.

Zoe pushed a chain of yellow cylinders over a dark green track. I tried to send it back to her with the force of one push alone, but it got stuck on one of the loops. She took half of it, sent the other half back to me, then pushed some triangles over a blocky, zig-zaggy track.

Cynthia joined us then, taking a seat on Connor's right. "Please don't make a scene today, sweetie." 

"I won't."

"You'll be fine." 

"I know." But his knee was bouncing a mile a minute and he kept clenching his hands into fists. When she gave him a sideways hug, he stiffened. "Please stop."

"I'm your mother. I can hug you whenever I want."

"You're suffocating me." I know it shouldn't have been funny, but his deadpan delivery made me bite my tongue. He bolted upright. "I need a cigarette." We watched him stalk off.

"Baby," Zoe mumbled.

I pushed the triangles back to her. 

A few minutes later, a nurse came through the doors leading to the examination rooms and called us back. Cynthia sighed. "Craig, could you go get Connor?"

I found him hanging out by the side of the building with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He was kicking the wall with alternating feet like he was doing an Irish dance. "I don't wanna do it."

"Well, they're ready for you."

"I hate needles, man."

"I know. But you'll be fine. C'mon."

Zoe went first; she didn't even blink when the needle pricked her. I snuck a glance at Connor, who was watching the blood go into the vial with a mixture of disgust and intrigue. 

When it was his turn, Connor swallowed. "Can you guys leave?"

"Yeah, honey. We'll be in the waiting room. Come get us when you're done."

We all stood. Connor grabbed my arm. "Not you, asshole."

I sighed, sunk back into the chair.

"Okay." The nurse -- a blonde, twenty-something with teal scrubs and sensible shoes -- rolled Connor's sleeve up and tied a tourniquet around his arm. "I'm just gonna sterilize you with an alcohol swab." She wiped it across his forearm. "Do you want me to use a butterfly needle? It's really tiny. You'll barely feel it."

I saw sweat beads form on his forehead. "Uh, y-yeah. Okay."

She gave him a kind smile and unwrapped the needle. "Alright, you're gonna feel a little pinch--" 

"No!" He jumped up and sprinted to the other side of the room. "No. _No._ I'm not ready. Just... just give me a minute."

"Connor, c'mon." I walked over and grabbed his arms.

"Get the fuck off me!" He was in a quiet panic, like he was trying his best to not go completely off the rails.

"Would you just shut up and cooperate? I'm missing school for this." I wrestled him into my lap, banging my elbow on the arm of the chair as we went down. One of my arms went around his waist, holding his forearm to his side; the other pressed his head to my shoulder. "Go," I nodded to the nurse.

"Wait!" Connor squirmed a little. "Can you... can you count down, please?"

"Of course! Ready?" She smiled. "One... two..."

"SON OF A BI--" 

My hand moved down to his mouth just in time. "There," I was like. "That's it. You're done." He whimpered as the blood traveled up the tube, and a few seconds later I felt wetness on my neck. "Are you crying?"

He spat something at me. Probably _fuck off._

The nurse -- her nametag read Susan -- put gauze over his wound. "All set! You did great today, Connor." She squeezed his shoulder before leaving the room.

"You did do great today," I was like.

"Don't patronize me, Gilner."

"No, really." I wiped at his eyes. "You totally could've lost your shit, but you kept it together. That's awesome." 

"Yeah, well," He stood. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll fucking kill you. Got it?" He tucked his hair behind his ear. "That dumb bitch didn't even count to three." 

"Yeah, that's what they do. It's to make sure you're still relaxed. They do it with piercings and stuff, too."

I saw the wheels in his brain start turning, but I wasn't sure why; at this point I didn't want to ask.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A typical day at the Murphy household, I guess.

I was sitting on the couch in the Murphy's amazingly weird green and grey living room. It was a big room with paneling on the walls and a hardwood floor with a black and white checkered throw rug. Right now, Zoe was sitting sideways, leaning against me because the couch faced the picture window, not the TV. We were watching a competitive cooking show and a girl was crying because the dish she was presenting lacked heavy cream. 

"She's gonna get booted," Zoe mumbled, repositioning herself so that her head was on my tricep.

We heard a car pull into the driveway on a Wendy's commercial -- Connor and Larry had gone to therapy together. "Hey, guys," Cynthia tried when they came in, "how was--"

Connor tried to disappear up the steps, but Larry grabbed his hood and yanked him back down. "Oh, no. You're done running from your problems." When they turned toward us, Cynthia gasped. Larry was sporting a black eye; Connor a bruised, bloody lip. "Why don't you tell your mother what happened, Connor?"

"Mom." He pulled free from Larry's grasp and took hold of her sleeve. There was a look in his eyes I'd never seen before -- manic. Unhinged. Desperate. "Mom, please don't make me go back to the hospital. _Please._ " He was on the verge of tears. "You need to hear me out."

"Just... just hold on." Cynthia turned to us with Connor still attached to her. "Why don't you guys... um... Why don't you go for a drive?"

"No, Mom. Don't make Craig leave! He's my _friend!_ " 

"Connor, stop it--"

"I'm not going anywhere," Zoe uptalked.

" _Enough._ " That was Larry. He pointed to Connor. " _You,_ shut the hell up. _You two,_ " He pointed to me and Zoe. "Get lost."

I grabbed Zoe's hand and pulled her to the door. "C'mon."

Once we were outside, she yanked her hand free of mine and sprinted down the driveway. She was in the car and buckled before I even got to the door. I waited until we were on the road before I tried to talk. "Do you wanna go to Chuck's?"

"No. I fucking hate vegan food."

"Well... do you--"

"Can we just drive, please?"

Okay. That I could do.

"I need something to hit," she said after a minute. 

"Just punch the dash. It's fine."

And she did. She beat it like it was a punching bag. When I looked over, there were blood smears. Then she pulled the sleeve of her cardigan over her hand, bit down on it, and wailed -- shrill, high-pitched screams from deep in her gut. "I hate him," she said. "I _hate him._ " She looked over at me. "I don't know what the hell it is with you guys -- maybe he has a crush on Noelle or something -- but when you aren't around he's a fucking monster. And everything's _still_ about him. Do you know the last time my parents gave a shit about me? It was the jazz band concert you guys went to in January. It's _July._ Wanna know how many group therapy sessions we've been to since January? A WHOLE LOT MORE THAN ONE, THAT'S FOR DAMN SURE." She paused, swallowed. "I started locking my bedroom door behind me because I'm always fucking terrified of what he's gonna do."

"He'd never hurt you--"

"You think my dad punched _himself_ in the face? Connor is dangerous, Craig."

I had no idea where we were -- I took a weird turn somewhere and now there were cows in fields on either side of us. I didn't know Jersey had cows. 

We drove for another half hour in silence before Cynthia texted Zoe telling her to come home. And it took another forty-five minutes due to Zoe's faulty directions before we were in front of the house again.

We went inside and she immediately headed up the stairs, ignoring the obvious tension between her parents. 

I stood in the doorway, trying to decide whether or not to return to my spot on the couch. Larry was watching TV in his recliner -- the cooking show was gone, replaced with a football game -- and Cynthia was standing in the center of the room with her hands on her hips, looking lost. She turned to me with a tired smile. "I'm not sure if Connor will be in the mood to talk, but you're welcome to head up if you want."

I took the drawing I'd put against the wall when I first got there and went upstairs. 

Connor's door was shut. I knocked. 

"If it's Cynthia or Larry or Zoe, go away." His voice sounded hoarse. 

"What about Craig?"

"You're on thin fucking ice."

I opened the door to blackness -- he had blankets draped over his windows again. I could just barely make out the shape of him, turned away from me in his bed. Before I had the chance to ask him what was wrong, he was laying it all out for me.

Apparently, neither he nor Larry had been looking forward to this therapy session -- it was Cynthia's idea -- but Connor decided to use the time to air his grievances. Specifically Emma. 

Emma was a secretary who worked at Larry's law firm. One day while Connor was cutting class he spotted them at a coffee shop. I guess they were a little too close for comfort. 

"Of course he fucking denied it," Connor rasped. "But I know what happened. I know what the hell I saw." 

Things took a turn for the worse after the session. Connor kept his cool as he and Larry continued their dialogue on the ride home, but in the middle of explaining that he _wasn't_ acting out and that he _was_ just fucked up (Connor's words, not mine), Larry had cut him off and said, "You're full of excuses, just like your mother."

And that's when Connor hit him. 

And that's when Larry hit him back.

"They both agreed to give me one more chance," he concluded. "If I fuck up again, they're not putting me back in the hospital; they're just gonna send me to juvy."

I didn't know what to say.

"They're also gonna readjust my meds and FUCK. WHY THE HELL IS IT SO HOT?"

"Maybe because it's 80 degrees out and you're hiding under a comforter." I tried to tug it off of him, but he wasn't having it. "Come out," I was like. "I have a present for you."

"What the fuck are you--" He fought his way out from under the blanket and I handed him my drawing. I watched his eyes scan the page. "What is this?"

"It's you."

Connor's brain was messy; there were countless highways and winding roads that were under construction, and I even drew a one-way called Vicodin St. with a sign at the beginning saying DO NOT ENTER. But it also had a quiet little neighborhood away from all the noise that included a lake. And ducks.

"It was supposed to be a late Christmas gift," I explained. "I was gonna give it to you when we went to the jazz band concert, but I forgot. It's been sitting in my trunk for months."

"Wow. This is... this is really cool, man. I dunno what to say." He stopped squinting at it long enough to look up at me. "Will you sign it?"

I smiled. "You got a Sharpie?"

He jumped out of bed and dug one out of his dresser drawer. "Is that... is that really how you see me?"

"What do you mean?" I scribbled my name on the bottom right corner and gave the pen back to him.

"I mean," he leaned the drawing against the wall. "If anyone else were drawing my brain, it'd be nothing but, like... Hellfire, explosions, car crashes..."

I thought back to what Zoe said: That he was a monster. That she was afraid of him. Looking at him, though -- dark circles returning to their designated spots under his eyes, shoulders hunched forward, and his voice almost completely gone -- I didn't see him that way. I couldn't. Don't get me wrong, he was one of the biggest assholes I knew. Larry probably should've hit him harder. But he was also my friend who had yet to figure his shit out. More than anything, I just wanted to hug him.

So I did.

For a minute it was just a hug between two dudes -- nothing to see here, pats on the back, laughter. Then we just stood there holding each other.

"Thanks, Craig," he was like.

**Author's Note:**

> Please send any requests to my Tumblr inbox!  
> wanderingbeauty


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